


After Every Hit We Take

by tuesdaymidnight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bickering, Blow Jobs, Fingering, Hate Sex, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Sometime around 3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaymidnight/pseuds/tuesdaymidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac is a mouthy asshole. Stiles is a mouthy asshole. They don't particularly like each other, but that doesn't stop them from giving into the overwhelming sexual tension between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Every Hit We Take

**Author's Note:**

> I saw some sexual tension between Stiles and Isaac in 3x03 and decided they needed to act on it. What.
> 
> Thank you to [coolbreeeze](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbreeeze) for reading through this.

“Nope,” Stiles said. “I don't know what you expect. It's not going to happen. You can't just come over to my house while my dad's at work, whip your shirt off, and expect me to jump your bones like I don't have a physics exam tomorrow and an undead alpha to deal with.”

“Actually, I think I can do exactly that.”

Isaac reached across the desk and closed Stiles' laptop.

“Hey! I didn't save that.”

He had every intention of shooting Isaac the nastiest glare he could muster, but unfortunately, when he turned his head, he was met with a perfect set of washboard abs instead of Isaac's smug face.

It wasn't his fault Isaac was hot.

“I hate you.”

“No you--” 

Stiles cut him off by, well, jumping Isaac's shirtless bones and shoving his tongue down Isaac's throat.

“Careful with the computer,” Stiles ordered, as Isaac set him down on his desk while attacking Stiles neck with his teeth. “And stop that. I don't need 'Property of Isaac Lahey' on my neck.”

“Might help your reputation if people knew you were getting some.”

Stiles tugged on Isaac's hair in retaliation, which never failed to make Isaac growl – not in pleasure. Isaac hated having his hair pulled.

“Not all of us have Allison to play beard for us.” 

The telltale feeling of claws scraped down Stiles' back.

“Hey! Scott got me this t-shirt!” Stiles protested.

“Then he can get you another one.” 

“This works better when you shut up.” 

Stiles could see the retort forming on Isaac's lips, so he wrapped his legs around Isaac's waist and tugged him forward. Isaac gave up his pursuit of insults and brought his lips back up to Stiles neck. 

Stiles carefully weighed his options: either get laid and deal with the hickeys or not get laid. The choice was obvious. 

He got Isaac's belt buckle open, his fly unzipped, and his dick out, while Isaac tore his shirt the rest of the way off and continued his path, marking down Stiles' neck, and ending by sucking a huge bruise at the base of his collarbone.

“Fuck,” Stiles muttered, with far too much suggestion and not nearly enough ire. Stupid werewolves and their stupid ability to know what felt good. 

He gave Isaac's cock a squeeze, feeling it thicken even more in his hand as he stroked up, and twisted his wrist as he pulled Isaac's foreskin up over the head. He was doing something right, because Isaac was groaning and half-assedly going for his own belt and taking too damn long for Stiles' liking.

“So much for werewolf dexterity; it's just a buckle.”

“How about I tear your jeans off you like I did your t-shirt.”

“Fuck off.”

“What do you think I'm trying to do, genius?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and reached his unoccupied hand up to wrap around Isaac's neck, pulling him back down to his level for a sloppy kiss. Isaac groaned into it and shoved his tongue roughly against Stiles'. Stiles pushed back like he was starving for it, like it had been months instead of days since they were last able to sneak away for a quickie. 

Stiles let go of Isaac's cock and managed to get his own jeans open. He stood up so he could shove them down. As soon as they were out of the way he pressed his chest against Isaac's and tried to wrap himself around the solid wall of muscle in front of him as best he could.

Yeah, he liked getting off. And yeah, he liked getting off with someone who had zero expectations and the social graces of a werewolf with so many mommy and daddy issues, that when Isaac wasn't being a giant dick, Stiles actually felt sorry for him. 

But what he really liked was the feeling of Isaac's warmth against him, the spark of electricity that seemed to run between them. “Compatible energies” or some such nonsense he read in one of Deaton's books. 

Isaac didn't complain about the Stiles-sized barnacle that was climbing all over him. He reached a hand between their bodies, gripped them both, and started stroking. They were both hard and leaking enough to give a nice slide in spite of the lack of leverage. 

“Bed,” Stiles said against Isaac's lips. “We never get to fuck on a bed.” 

“Yeah,” Isaac breathed back. The fact that Isaac didn't respond with some quip about Stiles trying to romance him was a sign of just how far gone he was. The fact that Stiles didn't make a crack about werewolf dexterity as they stumbled over to the bed was a sign of how far gone he was. 

Stiles wondered if it would ever stop feeling like this. It wasn't the thrill of sneaking around or the fact that he was finally, finally, getting laid. There was something about Isaac in particular that just set him off. He thought Isaac was an asshole most of the time, but that feeling of annoyance was like a bug that crawled under his skin and morphed first into anger and then insatiable lust. He and Isaac were either bickering or fucking. There seemed to be no in between. 

Isaac stood at the foot of the bed as Stiles tugged at his jeans, which were stupidly tight, and the only way he could get them off was if Isaac stopped jacking them off. 

“Oh my god. Can you wear stupider jeans?”

“They don't stop you from checking my ass out.”

“Shut up,” Stiles groaned. If he denied it, Isaac would just call him out on the lie. He squirmed out of Isaac's grasp and got down on his knees, yanking the obnoxiously clingy denim down as he went. 

Since Isaac's cock just happened to be right in his face, he couldn't exactly resist giving it a lick. And then taking it in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and releasing it with a pop. 

Isaac groaned. “The only thing your mouth is useful for and you stop?”

“It's good for other things. I don't know if you've noticed, but if you would actually listen to me once in awhile, it would save you from getting caught in bear traps.” 

“It was one time,” Isaac muttered, as he finally stepped out of his jeans.

Stiles took Isaac back into his mouth anyway. He couldn't help it. He liked sucking cock: the taste, the heavy feeling in his mouth, the rush of power that came when another guy—one who admittedly could rip his throat out—gave up that “protect the goods at all cost” instinct, and let him do it. He got sloppy with his technique as he felt around for the lube he had knocked under his bed, but Isaac didn't seem to care. He had brought his hand up to cradle the back of Stiles' head. The gesture was almost intimate, but Stiles knew Isaac's gentleness was the result of a teeth-scraping incident he didn't want repeated. 

Stiles might have the ferociousness of a house cat by comparison, but dammit, kitty could scratch if the werewolf didn't play nice.

Stiles coated his fingers and then ditched the tube. He reached around his back and pushed a wet finger into his ass, and brought his other hand up to cup Isaac's balls. Stiles didn't care what Lydia said about guys not being able to focus on more than one thing at a time; he was the king of multi-tasking. 

He let himself enjoy it—the cool, wet slide of one finger inside him, and then another. 

Isaac watched with hooded eyes. No longer focusing on Stiles swallowing around his cock, his gaze was trained on Stiles' hand as he worked himself open. Isaac never liked doing the fingering. Rimming? Yes. From what Stiles gathered from a very TMI conversation with Scott, apparently it was a werewolf thing to enjoy. But fingers? Well, Isaac's psychological issues extended to frequent hand-washing. Stiles didn't really want to know, and anyway, he liked it. He could hardly jerk off anymore without at least teasing a finger at his hole. 

When he felt like he could take Isaac's dick in his ass, he gave one more satisfying suck on said dick and then released it. Isaac let out a whine as Stiles pulled his fingers out and sat back on his heels. 

“Well? Are you going to fuck me or not?”

Isaac pounced. Literally pounced. And then he hauled Stiles up onto the bed like it was nothing. Stiles always pretended the brute strength didn't turn him on. They were both so lanky, it was always a clashing of limbs in a fight for control. What Isaac had in strength, Stiles had in strategy. 

Isaac's cock was still slick with Stiles' saliva, so Stiles squirmed around underneath Isaac until their dicks were lined up and they were thrusting against each other. Isaac rolled his hips obscenely. Stiles couldn't dance for shit, but he had seen Isaac on the dance floor at Jungle, and his hips certainly didn't lie. Stiles wanted more, so he reached around and grabbed a hold of Isaac's ass, adding some pressure. 

Isaac let it go on for a few breathless minutes where they didn't speak, working themselves up, a warm sheen of sweat building between them. 

Isaac broke first. “We're wasting time when I could be in you.”

“So put your cock in me.”

“Fine, I will.”

“Fine.”

Stiles spread his legs open wide so Isaac could push inside with one slow thrust, until he bottomed out, his balls hitting Stiles' ass. 

That was when the battle started. They bit and licked at each other, wherever they could reach skin, as they fought for position. Isaac tried to bring Stiles' legs up onto his shoulders, but it made Stiles feel too vulnerable, so he tried to clamp them around Isaac's waist. 

They never acknowledged that they always both got their way in the end—Stiles sitting on top of Isaac, straddling his waist, grinding down on Isaac, before Isaac couldn't take Stiles' broken rhythm and gripped his hips hard enough that Stiles stayed in place while Isaac hammered his own hips up. 

They were past the cowgirl jokes at this point, although it had taken awhile for Isaac to stop making lasso motions at Stiles, and for Stiles to withhold blowjobs, until they both realized it was in their best interest to stop. 

The tipping point always came—when it was too much and not quite enough for either of them—when Isaac would pull out roughly and spin Stiles around, pushing his face into whatever surface they happened to be on before pounding into Stiles' ass. 

Isaac's freaky werewolf accuracy meant that Stiles came hands free at least half the time. It was better than a vibrator. 

This time, though, Isaac took Stiles almost to that point before he slowed down, realizing that so long as they were on a bed, he should appreciate the way his knees didn't hurt and the way Stiles could arch his back, lifting his ass at an obscene angle. Isaac's lithe body was curved around Stiles, and he fucked deep into him with slow, hard strokes that were succeeding mostly in driving Stiles crazy. 

“More, dammit. More.” Stiles wiggled a hand underneath his body so he could jerk himself off. 

Even though Isaac hated it when Stiles told him what to do, he also hated any suggestion that his prowess was less than impressive. He never said as much, but he got off on making Stiles come untouched. So he grabbed Stiles hips suddenly so that Stiles lost his grip. He held Stiles in place and hammered into him so hard the wall started to shake from the bed hitting against it. At that pace, Stiles didn't last but a minute. His hole clenched around Isaac as he started shaking with his orgasm. Isaac couldn't hold on much longer either, and followed with a bit-back grunt. 

He pulled out slowly and flopped over beside Stiles. He wanted to wipe himself off, but he fought the urge to bolt, unsure that even with his supernatural coordination, he'd be steady enough to stand. 

Stile stretched and sighed. “This is why I keep you around.” 

“You just like me for my doggy-style.”

Stiles burst out laughing. 

He didn't hate Isaac when he was like this. Afterward when his tongue was loose and his body relaxed and for a few minutes they were just a couple horny teenage boys getting off together. They didn't need to hide all of their fears under a false bravado, because lives weren't at stake when it was just the two of them like this. 

The posturing would come back. So would the thrown barbs and the sarcasm and the way they always fought for Scott's attention like lovesick school boys, which was stupid because it was even like that with Scott.

“God, we're such a cliché.” Stiles said finally, as his sanity started trickling back in. 

Stiles took Isaac's muffled grunt as a “what?” even though it wasn't the first time Stiles had said it. Nor would it be the last.

“We're like the couple in that stupid ice skating movie. Having hate sex because we're too emotionally unavailable to attempt a normal relationship with someone we actually like. I lost my virginity on Finstock's desk for fuck's sake.”

Isaac didn't say anything in response. Stiles wasn't expecting him to. If there's one thing they agreed on besides their preferred method of getting off, it was that their preferred partner in getting off didn't make a damn bit of sense. 

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Toe pick.”

Stiles swung a pillow up at Isaac's head, who dodged it as he got up to use the bathroom. 

And everything was back to normal again.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for The Cutting Edge reference. IDEK.


End file.
